Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (4 page)

Even so, the very things that made the book difficult to transcribe helped him date it. The English language didn’t have standardized spelling until the mid-seventeenth century, so the book must have predated that. By how much, he had no idea. His next step was to cross-reference many of the names and locations to get a better sense of the era. Unfortunately, without the books in his library, he didn’t have many sources.

His mind wandered to the library again. Had it survived the collapse of the manor? Had it been discovered? His body ached at the thought of dirty police hands mishandling his books. He loathed to imagine the secure concrete facility where the books and artifacts would be stored and catalogued, far removed from the hands of the people who could use them, who
needed
them.

But for the time being, the library was out of his reach. So his focus needed to remain on the computer on his lap. Every book he’d been able to transcribe lived a digital life on its hard drive. He needed to back them up, store them, and maybe even send them to other Families for safekeeping. As long as the remaining McCollum books lived solely on his computer, they were at risk.

He hit Save—just to be safe.

Liam’s computer chimed, and it took him a moment to realize why.
An email
. He saved the document one last time and quickly pulled up his browser. He’d received a Google Alert. Concerned about being on the wrong side of a statewide manhunt, Allyn and Jaxon had asked Liam to track any news that named Allyn or Kendyl by name. Liam clicked on the link. The YouTube video was poor in quality, with a grainy picture and washed-out color, but Liam knew instantly what it was. By the time it ended, he was covered in cold sweat.

Chapter 4

A
llyn huddled with Jaxon and Leira in a semicircle around Liam, who had pulled up a chair in front of the rickety bedside table Jaxon used as a desk. The room was tight with the four of them, and because Liam had insisted they close the door, it was also growing hot.

The video, which had no sound, had been taken from the dash-mounted camera of a vehicle driving down a lonely, narrow road devoid of streetlamps. The faded yellow center line was nearly impossible to make out, and sometimes, it disappeared entirely under a thin fog. Thick, uncultivated trees lined the road to one side, while the other was a wall of exposed rock with leafy foliage growing through the cracks.

Allyn leaned in closer, his insides twisting into a knot, nearly overwhelmed by a powerful wave of dread and familiarity.

As the car rounded a tight corner, flashing blue and red lights reflected off the guardrail.
It’s a squad car.
The car straightened, and a new light streaked toward the camera. There was a bright flash, and Allyn lost all sense of direction. The world flipped and spun as if the video had been taken from the inside of a carnival ride, then finally, the vehicle lurched and came to a rest on its side. A single headlight shined across the narrow road toward the trees, and only a few feet beyond the tree line, the ground fell away abruptly.

“That’s where Lukas ambushed us,” Allyn said. He felt three pairs of eyes turn to him. “But that isn’t how the attack happened. I—”

A dark figure stepped into the frame. Dressed all in black and moving with lithe, snake-like movements, the man moved in front of the headlight. His already-pale skin was washed out in the poor video quality. It wasn’t Lukas.

“Who is that?” Allyn asked.

Nobody answered.

Bright-orange balls of flame—little more than white circles of dancing light on the monitor—formed in the man’s hands. Something streaked toward him. He met it in the air with one of the balls of light. There was a bright flash, and when the image reappeared, the magi was on the ground, dazed. Struggling to regain his wits, he shuffled backward as another man stepped into frame. This man was dressed in full white battle attire, and he moved with a quiet confidence.

“Graeme,” Allyn said.

Liam shifted in his seat. Allyn wondered what the young man was thinking. His father had only been gone for four days, and Liam hadn’t had a chance to heal. Allyn remembered the anguish of seeing pictures and videos of his mother in the weeks and months following her passing. He even sometimes choked up to this day, years later—some wounds never healed entirely. And Liam wasn’t watching a video of a birthday or Christmas morning. This was his father fighting for his life.

Graeme knelt over the other man, seeming to talk to him. Allyn found himself straining his ears in an attempt to hear what they were saying, though the video had no sound.

Graeme and the fallen magi went on like that for nearly half a minute. Graeme visibly grew increasingly agitated as the conversation wore on, until finally, he stood, wielded, and—

Allyn looked away, his skin suddenly clammy. He knew what came next—more death.
When will it end?
By the time he looked back up, Liam had paused the video. Graeme stood, staring straight at the camera. To those who already knew him, he was unmistakable.

“Where did you find this?” Allyn asked.

“It’s everywhere.” Liam punched the Escape button, and the video shrank to a small window on the monitor.

Allyn laughed bitterly.
YouTube?

Circling the total views, Liam said, “It’s been viewed over fifty thousand times since this morning.”

That sucked the air out of Allyn’s lungs.
Fifty thousand views?
Fifty thousand fresh eyes were watching something play out among a race of people they hadn’t previously known existed.

Allyn rubbed the back of his neck. “Who uploaded it? The police?”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t think so. Look at this.” He circled the name of the YouTube user who had uploaded the video.

“J.P. Niall,” Allyn read. “Am I supposed to know who that is?” He looked to the rest of them, hoping to see an expression of recognition.

Jaxon narrowed his eyes but didn’t look away from the screen. “I doubt any of us do.”

“I don’t know why,” Liam said, “but I feel like I’ve seen it before. It’s… familiar.”

“Another magi maybe?” Allyn asked.

“There isn’t a Niall Family,” Jaxon said.

“Was there ever?” Allyn asked. “Whoever uploaded the video could have referenced an old Family name, something only we would recognize, to get our attention.”

“Who would want to do that?” Leira asked bitterly. “We’ve been disavowed.”

“Then maybe they’re not trying to help…” Allyn said.

“Lukas is dead,” Liam said.

Lukas.
Allyn couldn’t prevent the nightmare from returning. His throat constricted against the sudden smell of burnt hair—and he couldn’t tell if he was going to retch or suffocate. He stepped away from the group, looking for space. When he didn’t find it, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take long, steady breaths, counting each one.

One
.

“The Hyland Family is still out there,” Jaxon said.

Two.

“Darian?” Leira said. “I thought he was dead.”

Three.
Allyn opened his eyes and turned back to the group. None of them so much as gave him a puzzled look. They probably thought he’d moved away to think.

Four.

“His body was never recovered,” Jaxon said.

The implications hung in the air. The heir-apparent to Lukas’s movement might not only be alive; he might be active. That complicated matters.

With a dry tongue, Allyn licked his lips. “We’re missing something. It’s police footage, and only they should have access to it. If Darian uploaded it, how did he get ahold of it?”

“Someone could have removed the dash camera before the police arrived,” Liam said. “Or… it could be a police trap to lure us out.” He added the last bit with a crooked smile as if to suggest he didn’t believe it.

“That doesn’t feel right, either,” Allyn said. “It’s too convoluted. Too unconventional. The police wouldn’t dump evidence straight onto YouTube. They would release it through official channels—TV, news websites, that sort of thing.”

“That’s not true,” Liam said. “I’ve seen requests for help on social media.”

Allyn looked at Liam, bemused.
When did he become the expert on police procedure?
“You’re right. But this is different. This isn’t a picture of a missing teenager floating across social media. This was uploaded straight onto YouTube without even a description. Don’t you think if this was the police looking for help, they’d include some sort of contact information? At least an email or a number to call if you have any information?”

“I suppose,” Liam said, though the tone of his voice suggested he still wasn’t convinced.

“Either way,” Leira cut in, “the longer we sit here talking about it, the more people are watching it. Can you take it down?”

Allyn agreed with her. Unlike most of the videos on YouTube, this one had an air of brutal authenticity, which was probably the reason it was drawing so many viewers. Because it was taken from the dash cam of a police car, a small number of viewers had no doubt already accepted it as genuine and had been convinced that real-world magic existed faster than Allyn would have expected them to. Faster than he had. If there were enough believers in the audience, the questions would reach a tipping point. People would come looking, and the magi’s ability to hide in their shrinking world would disappear.

A few comments poked fun at the video’s “poor special effects work,” but those were few and far between. To most, the video was entertainment, and they were impressed with the quality of the work. Most importantly, regardless of whether the police had released the video or not, it was still evidence, and it was only a matter of time before someone within the department made the connection. The video had to come down.

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Liam said.

“Why?” Leira asked.

“Well, on a normal video, yes, I could do it. But with something that’s gone viral like this…” Liam winced. “It’s been linked to and embedded onto thousands of other sites and social media pages. It’s spread too far. And it’s not slowing down.” As if to drive his point home, Liam refreshed the page. In the time they had gathered to watch it, the video had been viewed more than fifteen hundred more times and shared more than one hundred times.

“What happens if you remove the original video?” Allyn asked. “Remove it, and the rest will disappear too, right?”

“The ones that link back to this original video will,” Liam said. “But people try and capitalize off viral videos, piggyback off their viewers. These other videos”—he dragged the cursor over the Suggested Videos link on the right side of the screen—“aren’t simply embedded or linked to the original. They’re copies, recreations, videos of people watching the video.”

“What are you saying?” Allyn asked.

“I’d have to go in and remove them one by one.”

“How many are there?” Leira asked.

“Best guess? Hundreds.”

“So you’re saying it can’t be done,” Allyn said.

“No,” Liam said. “It can be done, but it will take a very long time. And what happens when every video involving real-world magic mysteriously vanishes from the Internet? Won’t people notice that, too?”

Allyn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then what do we do?”

“I can remove the original video,” Liam said. “That will slow the process down and make it harder to find the others, but it won’t stop the spread.”

“Do it.”

“Wait.” Jaxon knelt beside Liam. Allyn realized that the man had been quiet for several minutes. “Can you trace it? Find out where it originated from?”

“Probably.”

“Give it a try.”

“Now?”

Jaxon nodded.

Liam minimized the screen and set to work.

“What are you thinking?” Allyn asked.

“Whoever posted this video is obviously trying to capture our attention,” Jaxon said. “We should find out why.”

“Even if it’s the police?”

“We need to know who we’re contending with,” Jaxon said matter-of-factly. He turned back to Liam and watched as the young magi toggled through multiple screens, his hands a blur. The room remained quiet for several minutes. The others were probably like Allyn, afraid to interrupt, fearing they might break Liam’s rhythm and slow down the process.

“Almost there,” Liam said, never breaking stride. Liam’s abilities had grown with his confidence. He’d always had skill with electronics—that much had been clear during Allyn’s first encounter with him—but Allyn believed there was little Liam
couldn’t
accomplish anymore. The only binds that held him back were of his own making—his limits were truly the limits of his imagination. Unfortunately, on the surface, Liam’s abilities looked like nothing more than skill—even Allyn had trouble distinguishing between the two—and that was how they’d gone unnoticed for so long to begin with. When the time came, how would they convince the other Families that these newfound abilities were real? Allyn’s magic was obvious magic, but Liam’s…

“Done.” Liam leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on the top of his head.

“Who is it?” Jaxon asked, leaning over Liam’s shoulder. “Is it Darian?”

“I don’t know,” Liam said. “All I could pull was an address, but the video didn’t originate from the Hyland Estate.”

“Where did it originate from?”

“Here.” Liam pointed at the address hidden among the rest of the computer code.

“There’s no way…” Allyn said. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“No,” Liam said. “I traced the IP address back to the Internet provider, then cross-referenced it with their user database until I found a match. That video was uploaded by that user from that address.”

Allyn shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

“What’s wrong?” Jaxon asked.

“That’s
my
address,” Allyn said. “
That’s my condo
.”

Chapter 5

S
pecial Agent Richard Maddox strolled through the charred remains of the manor. Much of the white stone, blackened by smoke and flame, still stood, but the roof had collapsed, leaving the smoke-stained walls standing like ghosts, lost and alone. The fragile remains of half-burned belongings crunched under his feet, covering his polished black boots in gray ash and soot. The smell of smoke hung in the air, oppressive and clingy. He and his partner had spent the last two days at the manor, and Maddox hadn’t been able to get the disgusting scent off himself either time. He was beginning to think that he would forever smell like a campfire.

The sun slipped past the trees behind him, and long shadows stretched over the grounds, peeking through the manor’s ruins like timid fingers. Large stadium-like lights had been erected around the perimeter of the manor so that the arson unit and other crime scene investigators could work into the night. So far, they had turned up very little. An accelerant had been used on the walls, and the manor had gone up in flames in an instant. But according to the reports of the officers on location, the manor had been clear when they’d arrived. A large number of people had returned—and died—at nearly the same time the manor had been torched. None of it made sense.

His standard missing persons case was rapidly growing more complex. What had Allyn Kaplan, a young, well-to-do attorney with no family, been doing there? Why had he kidnapped his twin sister to begin with? The officers who found Kendyl had said that she was bound and gagged, but they also said that Allyn had surrendered himself peacefully.

Most kidnapping cases came down to one of three things: power, money, or sex.

Maddox had eliminated sex from the equation immediately. Neither Allyn nor Kendyl had a history of sexual harassment or abuse. Money seemed easy to eliminate, as well. By all accounts, Kaplan was an up-and-coming lawyer at one of the most prestigious law firms in the Northwest. According to the partners at Clarke, Poole, and Associates, Kaplan was making well into six figures per year with an impressive benefits package. And while most recent graduates were buried under student debt, an inheritance from his mother had paid for most of Allyn’s education. On the other hand, Kendyl was dead broke. The part-time barista at a trendy northeast coffee shop spent more money on her private art studio than she did on rent. If money had been the motive,
she
would have kidnapped
him
.

That left power. Maddox struggled to justify that too, but other elements seemed to click into place. Theresa Kaplan had died when her children were just teenagers, and without any other family to go to, Allyn had taken charge. He had a history of thriving while in power. That was one of the attributes the partners at Allyn’s firm had loved about him—he didn’t get nervous or rattled. If he saw a problem, he found a way to fix it. Perhaps a conflict between the Kaplan siblings had caused Allyn to assert the same authority he’d acted upon earlier in life. That didn’t feel right, either. Allyn had taken on a parental role, and while parents are prone to acting irrationally, they don’t kidnap their misbehaving children.

It’s not your job to convict him
, Maddox reminded himself.
It’s your job to catch the son of a bitch. Let the lawyers deal with the rest.

Maddox arrived at what his partner referred to as the “museum.” The area around it had been dug away, exposing the long rectangular structure below. From the outside, it was hardly remarkable, little more than an enclosed concrete basement with high ceilings and a sliding door with a digital passcode. But inside, it was something to behold: a private collection of ancient weapons, armor, paintings, sculptures, clothing, books, and more. Items lined the walls and filled displays evenly spaced throughout the room. It made Maddox contemplate what other wonders had been destroyed along with the manor. The museum would have housed the true marvels, but the manor had no doubt displayed other majestic pieces of history.

A hollow path, maybe ten feet wide, circled the museum like a moat. Maddox whipped his leg around the ladder and quickly descended the fifteen or so feet to the ground. The area around the museum had been cleaned away, and sheets of plywood created a makeshift path atop the moist ground. Below the smoldering wreckage, the air was clean and smelled of wet soil. Maddox took a deep breath then spat as the scent of smoke again tickled his nostrils. No matter where he was or how little time he spent in the rubble, he couldn’t get away from that smell. It stuck to him, latched onto his clothes, and didn’t let go.

No wonder I get the distinct impression this case is going to be a clusterfuck.

Maddox rounded the north side of the structure, coming to a sliding-glass partition that was nearly as wide as the structure itself. Maddox punched in the new code—he’d heard reprogramming the door had been a nightmare—and entered. Without a proper decontamination chamber outside the partition, the museum wasn’t exactly a clean room, but the crisp air smelled sterile and was a cool sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit—the optimum temperature for preserving aging texts. Or so he’d been told. The door slid closed behind him.

Nolan was already inside, sitting at a table, going through one of the museum’s books. He had the look of a man who would have a fine career as a special agent. Tall and broad in the shoulders with a thick chest, Agent Nolan was larger than most men—though still shorter and skinnier than Maddox himself—but he had the square jaw, blond hair, and blue eyes of the boy next door. He was personable, quick to smile, and instantly trustworthy. Maddox wasn’t sure if he liked him.

He looked up as Maddox strolled toward him. His dark jacket had been thrown over the table beside him, and his starched white shirt was coming un-tucked in the back, exposing a little skin just above his belt. Maddox would have to talk to him about that. Their authority came from their office, and their dress was an extension of that. To slack there undermined that authority, damaged their credibility, and diminished their power. They needed to be in uniform at all times. No exception.

This is coming from the man who smells like a cheap cigar
?

“How was dinner?” Nolan asked.

“It was dinner,” Maddox lied. He’d stepped away, using food as an excuse, just to get some time away from Nolan. The man never shut up. Even while he read, he talked—Maddox hadn’t even known that was possible—and Maddox found himself fantasizing about using his fist to plug the young agent’s hole.
It’s unfortunate the bureau frowns on violence between agents.
“What are you reading?”

Nolan looked at the text reverently. The thing was ancient. Its wooden cover was wrapped in leather and ornamented with metal corner pieces and a raised medallion in the center. The parchment had yellowed with age, and the deteriorated black ink was difficult to read. The images inside, though, were striking. The gold pictures sparkled and shined when Nolan turned the page with a latex-covered finger.

“I’m not sure,” Nolan said, scanning the next page. “The script is elegant and hand-written, but it’s written in another language, so I have no idea what it says. The pictures are interesting, though.”

Maddox peered over Nolan’s shoulder. Each page had two or three images, each bracketed by flowing text that reminded Maddox of a history book. But each image, while lifelike, lacked the detail and perspective of modern art. Nolan had stopped on a page with three images of battle. Bloodied bodies were strewn about the landscape, while dark figures dressed in black robes and demonic masks held torches to the dead.

“It looks like a purge,” Maddox said. “From the Plague maybe?”

“I don’t think so,” Nolan said. “It looks like a battle. And I’ve seen other art similar to this in the museum.”

Nolan had spent nearly every available moment in the museum. He was drawn to its contents in a way that he’d been unable to articulate. It grated on Maddox. They had a job to do. Kendyl Kaplan was still missing, and her kidnapper was still at large. Until those two issues were solved, Maddox didn’t give a damn about art or any of the other personal effects within the manor. He
had
allowed Nolan a little time every day to sift through its contents, though. Something had drawn Kaplan to the manor, and maybe the reason could be found in one of the books.

“Oh,” Nolan said, “Vaughn brought some coffee.” He pointed at a pair of cups at the end of the table. “It’s probably cold by now, but…” He shrugged.

Maddox walked to the end of the table and grabbed the cup. He pulled off the lid and shook his head in dissatisfaction. It wasn’t coffee. It was an overly sweetened, caramel-swirled, whipped-cream-topped desert drink posing as coffee. Coffee was coffee. Black. It grated on him when people tried to make something into something it wasn’t. He placed the cup back on the table.

“Where are we with forensics?” Maddox asked.

“They came back negative.”

“Negative? On everything?”

“That’s what the lab said.”

“That’s not possible. We recovered twelve bodies, and we didn’t find a match with any of them?”

Nolan shook his head.

“No DNA? Dental? Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Nolan closed the book and slid it across the table. “Something’s going on here. Something we’re missing. How is it that a two-hundred-year-old manor exists without so much as an address? This private museum alone is worth millions, and it was built inside a climate-controlled environment that would have cost another million to construct. Where does the money come from? Who are these people?”

“The manor
did
have an address,” Maddox said. “Though it wasn’t easy to find. It’s owned by a real estate company called First Family LLC.”

“A real estate company?” Nolan repeated. “Who’s the controlling party?”

“I’m working on that.”

“It should be on their yearly tax documents.”

“It would be,” Maddox said, “if they’d filed any.”

“Bank accounts?”

“All off-shore.”

“Of course,” Nolan said. “Someone is taking extraordinary measures to stay hidden.”

“I know it’s odd,” Maddox said, “but answering those questions isn’t our job. Finding Kaplan is.”

“He’s an enigma, too,” Nolan said. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“I’m struggling with that, too. All I can say is that, at this point, the profile goes out the window. We have multiple witnesses placing him at the scene of the crime, which he fled once the police were called. He was found here weeks later, with his sister bound and gagged, only to escape once he was in transit, leaving three police officers dead. That’s proof enough for me.”

“I’m telling you—we’re missing something,” Nolan said. “Something important. And it has to do with all of this.”

“You’ll learn that the world doesn’t always fit neatly into a little box, Agent Nolan. There will never be a time where you get all the answers or solve all of the mysteries, and that means you’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to have to learn to live with that, because what matters is that we make sure this sort of thing doesn’t go unpunished. It’s not our responsibility to convict criminals or hand down punishments. We just deliver them to the people who do.”

Nolan looked as though he were about to respond, but Maddox’s phone cut him short.

Maddox frowned at the incoming number. “Maddox,” he said, answering the call.

“What the hell kind of clusterfuck are you running down there?” The voice on the other end was screaming, forcing Maddox to hold the phone away from his ear.

Maddox set his jaw. He didn’t care if it was Special Agent in Charge Kathleen Hanigan or not—he
loathed
being yelled at. “Sir?” he said, only barely restraining his anger.

“You have a leak, Agent Maddox,” Hanigan said, her voice only slightly less agitated than it had been before.

Maddox imagined Agent Hanigan behind her wide, L-shaped mahogany desk, her sharp face punctuated by her square, black-rimmed glasses. Some said her scowl alone could wilt a perpetrator into talking. It was bullshit, of course, but the rumor was so old and so prevalent that Maddox secretly wondered if Hanigan had begun to believe it, too.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Your evidence is on the fucking Internet!”

Maddox hung up.

Nolan’s eyes went wide. “Did you just hang up on the special agent in charge?”

“I don’t appreciate being yelled at.”

“But—”

“If she wants to talk to me,” Maddox said tightly, “she can talk to me like an adult. I won’t be scolded like a troublesome child.”

Maddox’s phone rang again. He declined the call.

“Are you insane?” Nolan asked. “You’re going to get us thrown off the case.”

“Doubtful.”

Nolan licked his lips nervously. “I don’t appreciate being thrown into the middle of this.”

“You’re not. This is between her and me.”

Nolan shook his head and gave Maddox an irritated smile. “I will admit, you’ve got a swinging set on you, Maddox.”

Maddox waited for the third call, but it didn’t come. Instead, Nolan’s phone rang.

“So much for it being between you and her,” Nolan said, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket. He held the phone out for Maddox.

“No,” Maddox said. “She’s calling
you
.”

“Looking for you!”

Maddox shrugged. “You better answer it. Ignoring it is only going to piss her off more.”

Nolan gulped. The phone rang again. A couple more, and it would go to voicemail.

“If you’re hoping that I’m going to swoop in and save you,” Maddox said, “then you’re going to be disappointed.”

Nolan locked eyes with Maddox and took a deep breath before answering the phone. “Nolan,” he said, his voice surprisingly less flustered than he appeared. “Yes, sir. He’s right here, sir.” Nolan held the phone out to Maddox.

He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

“She wants to talk to you,” Nolan said.

Maddox remained silent.

“Quit playing games and answer the damn phone, Maddox.”

“Ask her if she’s done yelling.”

“I’m not going to ask the special agent in charge if she’s done yelling.”

“Then I’m unavailable to talk.”

“Maddox—”

“No.”

Nolan shook his head irritably. “I’m going to kill you when this is over.” He put the phone back to his ear. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Hanigan, Agent Maddox is apparently unavailable. What can I help you with?” He winced, yanking the phone away from his ear as the voice on the other end erupted again. “I understand,” he said, cutting in. “I understand. It will be handled. But, sir? Sir? What evidence?”

Nolan’s eyebrows rose as he bent down to pull his laptop out of his briefcase. With the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, he opened the computer. “I’m pulling it up now.”

While Nolan typed furiously, Maddox circled so he could see what the young agent was looking at. He’d logged on to the Internet and pulled up a video. Maddox cursed and stepped away from the table. Exasperated, he placed his hands on the top of his clean-shaven head. He didn’t need to see the rest. It was a video taken from the night Kaplan escaped custody—a video that was supposed to be in police possession.